The Morning After
by Fragilereality
Summary: It's the morning after the Battle of Hogwarts and Draco has some choices to make. One shot. EWE.


**Team: Pride of Portree**

 **Position: Chaser one**

 **Task: Write about a known Quidditch playing witch or wizard gaining freedom (Broom)**

 **Optional prompts: 3. Gumboot, 11. Grass stain, 13. Should we tell him that it's fake?**

 **Word count before author's note: 2259**

 **Thank you to all my lovely teammates for beta reading.**

 **A/N I realise I've taken some liberties with the process for creating a portkey. In Order of the Phoenix when Dumbledore makes a portkey he simply uses the '** _ **Portus'**_ **spell. I wanted a process that would take a little longer. Also, I've always wondered how Dumbledore wasn't immediately transported by the golden head Portkey when he handles it to give it to Harry. I've read some discussions online which suggest there may have been a timer element which is what I have incorporated here.**

* * *

 **The Morning After**

The Great Hall hummed with quiet activity. House elves distributed food, hot drinks, and blankets. Those who were injured were quickly and efficiently triaged by Madam Pomfrey's capable team and those who were bereaved wept quietly over their cooling mugs of hot chocolate.

Draco didn't know where to look. His mother clutched his hand, her bony fingers digging painfully into his as if to reassure herself that he would never be lost to her again. Draco wished he could retract his head and hide like a snail. He felt the painful lances of hundreds of condemnatory glances, both real and imagined.

His father appeared to have awoken from a long and confusing dream. He stared around him, his gray eyes bright and alert. It was as if he were re-assembling himself in front of Draco's eyes. All the tiny chinks in his armour wrought by years of fear and oppression under Voldemort were being gradually repaired. Draco could almost hear him scheming as he identified the new interim Minister for Magic, the new Hogwarts Headmistress, and the new Chief Auror. By sundown, the Malfoy name would be as clear as it always had been.

Draco couldn't stand it.

"I just need some air, _Mother_ ," he snapped. Narcissa had immediately tried to follow him when he'd risen to his feet. He ignored the hurt look on her face as he turned away and, eyes fixed on the floor, marched out of the Great Hall.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone in a cloudless blue sky, the air was rich and heavy with the scent of the Bog Myrtle which grew around the Black Lake, and cheerful starlings twittered on the castle rooftop. It all seemed strangely incongruous amidst the devastation of the castle and its grounds.

Draco shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and made his way toward the Quidditch pitch. He ignored the craters that littered the sides of the path and the boulders which occasionally obstructed his way as he enjoyed the gentle breeze on his face.

His first emotion was one of relief as he walked under the stands to survey the still-intact stadium. This had been the site of many disappointments for him, but there had been good times too; early morning practices with his teammates and the time he had caught the snitch against Hufflepuff. He hadn't been a bad Seeker, even if his father had initially bought him his place on the team.

Draco's pleasure in the deserted pitch was quickly replaced by irritation as he realised he was not alone. A small figure was huddled beneath the hoops with her back to him.

Granger! He couldn't fail to recognise her abundant hair. He hesitated. His first response was to flee before she saw him, but what if she was hurt? Potter had come back for him in the Room of Requirement; shouldn't he do the same now for Granger?

He approached her cautiously. Over her shoulder, he could see she was rummaging in a small, shabby, beaded handbag. There must be some sort of extension charm on it, he thought, her arm was immersed right up to the elbow.

"What are you doing, Granger?" It came out with more of his old arrogance than he'd intended.

"Malfoy!" she shrieked his name as she turned to glare at him, simultaneously trying to draw her wand. She tumbled sideways onto the grass, clutching both her wand and what looked like a gumboot. "Don't come any closer." She dropped the gumboot and trained her wand on him. She looked terrible, Draco thought. She was too thin, her hair seeming to weigh down her delicate neck. Purple smudges bloomed beneath her eyes and her clothes were shabby and torn.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He didn't even reach for his own wand, instead, he extended his hand to help her up. She gazed at his long fingers and well-manicured nails for several beats.

"Aren't you afraid of my dirty blood?" She stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"I've been touched by people far less clean than you in the last year, Granger." He kept his hand out. She frowned before decisively placing her small, warm palm in his. It took almost no effort on his part to pull her to her feet.

Once standing, she rubbed awkwardly at a grass-stain on her jeans.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be inside, with your parents?"

Draco shrugged and shoved his hands back in his pockets. "Mother was smothering me, clutching my hand like I was still her precious baby boy as if I hadn't..." He bit his tongue, why was he telling her this? She was watching him with those intelligent brown eyes; eyes that saw far too much. He found himself wanting to speak, wanting to confide in her. "And Father? Well, you should see him. He's putting the Malfoy spin on everything, gearing up to convince Shacklebolt that none of this was our fault. Give him a couple of hours and he'll have the whole world believing that we were under the Imperius curse, or we were blackmailed, and we're just _so filled with remorse now_." His voice had risen. "Should we go back up there, do you think, you and I. Should we find the minister? Should we tell him it's fake and that everything my father says is a bloody lie?" He stared at her, panting slightly, expecting some sort of answer. She gave none, merely shrugged and knelt down once more, reaching for the gumboot.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked again. She was moving her wand over the boot and chanting a quiet incantation.

"I'm making a Portkey."

"But that's illegal."

She looked up at him and then, very deliberately across the stand to the ruins beyond. "I think the Ministry has more important concerns than an illegal Portkey right now."

"But how do you even know how to do it?"

Without thinking, he knelt beside her, uncaring about the damp grass and the stains it was undoubtedly leaving on his robes. He watched, intrigued, as she cast several glowing runes into the air in front of her.

"I learned from a book." The runes shimmered and disappeared. "It's amazing how much reading one gets done whilst on the run from a bunch of insane killers."

Draco flinched at her words. He had hated her, on principle mainly, but also for being so bright, so competent, and so irritatingly perfect. Kneeling together in the fresh spring breeze it seemed hard to believe he had ever harboured such feelings towards her.

"I'm sorry about what happened at the manor."

She had begun to cast her runes once more, but at his words, she lowered her wand and stared at him.

"You tried to help us." She looked away, but continued to speak as she focussed on the spell. "Maybe you didn't recognise Harry, but there was no way you didn't know Ron and me. Why would you help us?"

"Because I didn't want you to get killed!" The words burst out of him as if of their own volition. "Merlin's beard, Granger. I may not have liked you or your friends, but I never meant for any of this to happen." He swept his arm around them in an all-encompassing gesture.

"Now you sound like your father," Granger sniffed.

Draco watched in silence as she continued to trace the delicate runes. He liked the way her left hand occasionally mirrored the movements of her right; a tiny inadequacy that made the great Hermione Granger seem a little more human.

Finally she muttered, " _Portus_." The boot glowed briefly and she sat back on her heels, a satisfied smile on her pink lips.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, suddenly terrified she would activate the Portkey and leave him alone.

"Australia." She stowed her wand out of sight up her sleeve.

"Why there?"

She huffed out a sigh, clearly tiring of his questions. "My parents are there. I Obliviated them for their own protection last summer."

"You Obliviated your own parents?" He tried, and failed, to keep the note of incredulity from his voice. "That's cold, Granger."

Her eyes hardened. "Do you really want to talk about who did the worst thing during the war, Malfoy?"

He shook his head as shame filled him once more.

"What do Potter and Weasley say to you running out on them?" He knew he'd hit a nerve as she flinched and averted her eyes.

"They…understand," she said after a moment.

He could have said something horrid then, mocked Weasley and his pathetically obvious crush for starters, but he simply nodded.

"Will you come back?" He hadn't known he would ask; hadn't expected to care so much about her answer.

She looked out over the Quidditch pitch, her eyes far away.

"I'm not sure," she said, finally. "I was so excited when I found out I was a witch. It all made sense, I felt as if I finally had a place in the world." Her fingers toyed aimlessly with the gumboot. "Then I arrived in the Wizarding World and found out I didn't fit in here either." She smiled wanly. "Let's just say I'm not in a hurry to come back."

Draco nodded and stared into those wide brown eyes.

"Good luck, Granger." He held out his hand for the second time that morning and was gratified when she took it without hesitation.

"You too, Malfoy."

He got to his feet and walked away across the pitch. He had reached the stands before an idea hit him and he turned in a panic, terrified he had missed his chance.

"Granger," he bellowed. She was standing now, her wand poised over the gumboot, but she paused and looked expectantly at him. He sprinted back to her side. "Take me with you."

"What?" She stared at him.

"Take me with you, to Australia. Please."

She lowered the gumboot.

"Why on earth would you want to come to Australia, with me of all people?"

"Because this is it, Granger." He waved his hands emphatically. "This is my chance to escape, to go somewhere new and start afresh. To be somebody other than Draco Malfoy, spoiled pureblood. This is my chance to be free."

"But you can start afresh here, if you really want to."

"No, I can't, no more than you can. The first war didn't change anything, not really and neither will this one. In six months' time, when the dust settles, it'll still be men like my father running the country. But _I_ can change, if I leave now, while I'm brave enough to do it."

Hermione stared at him, her lips pursed. "And why would I want to take you with me? We're not friends, Malfoy."

"But we could be." Draco took a step towards her, his whole body trembling with desperation. "I could help you. Do you know I got a higher mark in our Charms OWL than you? I can help with your parents."

She shook her head vigorously. "As if I'd let you near my parents with a wand— try again."

"Money then." He spread his hands. "Gringotts has several branches across Australia. I can support us both."

"Do you really think _Daddy_ will still allow you access to your account when he realises you've run off with a Mudblood?" Her voice dripped with scorn.

Draco forced himself to stay calm. "My trust fund matured when I came of age; my father can't touch it now. You're right, though—" he looked down at his shoes; once highly polished they were now scuffed and spotted with blood "—I can't offer you much. I know we're not friends. I know I've treated you badly in the past; I know I was in the wrong. But I _can_ change, Granger. I've already changed." Bracing himself for rejection he reached out and took her hand. "Please. Give me a chance."

He felt a flicker of hope when she did not immediately pull away. Instead, she looked down at where their grimy fingers were entwined, his so much paler than hers despite the layer of dirt that covered them.

"You'll have to do as I say," Her tone was challenging.

"Of course."

"We'll be interacting with Muggles; I'll expect you to behave politely and to make an effort to fit in."

"I will, I promise. Granger, I want to fit in...with your world."

She stared at him for several long moments, her brown eyes thoughtful. Draco felt a surge of disappointment when she pulled her hand from his, but it was short-lived as he realised he had been holding her wand hand.

"Don't make me regret this," she warned him as she held out the gumboot for him to touch. He placed his fingers on the toe, trembling with anticipation as she began to count down.

"Five."

He was really doing this; leaving everything behind— was he insane?

"Four."

She was smiling at him as she counted; just a tilt of her lips but a real smile and her weary eyes had lightened.

"Three."

He couldn't help but grin back. He was going on an adventure; he was starting a new life with Hermione Granger!

"Two."

He thought briefly of his mother, waiting in vain for him to return. He would owl her from Australia. He rather thought she might understand his reasons for wanting to leave.

"One."

The horrible hooking sensation gripped his stomach and Draco closed his eyes as he was ripped away from his old life. For the first time ever, he felt free.


End file.
